


The Standard Model

by entanglednow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows damn well that the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Standard Model

John knows damn well that the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results. Though for some reason he still tells Sherlock to buy milk, and bread, and tea and bandages. Knowing very well that the milk, bread, tea and bandages will at no point actually appear in the flat. He doesn't know whether that's hope, or masochism.

There had been that moment last week, where his hope was briefly kindled. Sherlock had come back from the shop with mushrooms - only to spend an hour pounding them with a claw hammer. John had stolen a couple to put in the stir fry when he wasn't looking and decided, generously, to chalk it up as helpful. Because he'd take whatever he could get. The odds of Sherlock eating the food, and the odds of him using it in an experiment, tend to be about equal. Occasionally the third option will be 'throw a tantrum, and toss it all in the bin.'

The 'only edible things in the kitchen' rule had run into trouble straight away, when it became clear that Sherlock's definition of 'edible' was rather broader than his own. Besides Sherlock tends to get distracted easily, the only thing he can be guaranteed to do is _burn_ things (or more accurately, set them on fire.) Which is frustrating, considering how many delicately timed experiments he carries out every day.

Which is how John came to be in charge of the shopping, and the cooking, mostly by default. Sherlock is in charge of - apparently making his life interesting.

John stops at the top of the stairs, and stares. There's a shop mannequin, dressed in Sherlock's coat, gloves and scarf, posed in the middle of the living room, as if to deter birds from landing. It's wearing a dark, curly wig, at a not entirely convincing angle, and the face is more the sort that would try and poutily sell you underwear than solve crime. It's quite clearly supposed to be a replica of Sherlock though. The height seems to be right (which suggests it is in fact _exactly_ right.) John stares at it for a minute, trying to decide if it's any odder than some of the things he's come home to.

"You know what, I'm not going to ask. I'm just not," he mutters to the world at large, and goes to put the shopping away.

It's still there when he turns around

"I don't even care if a gypsy curse has turned you into plastic."

The mannequin gives him a completely unhelpful look, it seems oddly put out that it's no longer selling underwear. It clearly doesn't know how to be a consulting detective.

"Still, five minutes and you haven't called me stupid, or demanded anything. Maybe it's not all bad." John drifts a little closer. Whenever he tries to think like Sherlock he fails. Mostly, he suspects, because he tries to start somewhere sensible. While Sherlock could stare into a bag of wine gums and suddenly know everything. Sometimes John thinks he's just not mad enough. Most of the time he can do nothing but follow, in a frustrated, amazed sort of awe. "You wouldn't fool anyone across the street. For Sherlock to be as still as you, he'd have to be dead already."

He's wondering if he should be standing so close to it, when the front door opens, and there's a slow, determined clunking, followed by a scrape along the wall. John's drawn by morbid curiosity to the door. Sherlock has claimed, stolen, or borrowed another mannequin, and John doesn't need to be told that this one is supposed to be him. It looks less like an underwear model and more like it was claimed from some sort of outdoor pursuits store. It looks grim and unsettling. It has plasticky hair, and a hole in its ear. Story of his life.

Things begin to slowly crawl together in his head, in a way that makes sense, if he squints.

"We're going to spend the evening beheading things again aren't we?"

Sherlock stares at him - fake John's arm falls off.

"Ah, good, you're back, go and get a jumper, something that'll survive a good smack."

John thinks about arguing, he doesn't think Sherlock will listen. He's not paying attention any more. He's trying to screw fake John's arm back in.

"Some people might consider this odd, you realise that."

Sherlock makes a rude noise and poses them, so they're standing together. John can't help but wonder if he's really that short.

"This is probably exactly what the living room of a serial killer looks like. Is it too late to move in with someone normal?"

"You'd be bored within a week," Sherlock says. Which proves he knows exactly what people are mumbling about, when he can be bothered.

John watches Sherlock try and bend his fake self into some sort of order, and hates that he's right.

"You're lucky that I love you," he complains under his breath, and goes to find some clothes for his fake self, that he won't miss too much.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Standard Model](https://archiveofourown.org/works/548000) by [LadyofMisrule](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofMisrule/pseuds/LadyofMisrule)




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